Warning: Games partially spoiled in this blog post: Harvest Moon: Back to Nature (PSOne).

Believe it or not, but there actually was a time in my life where I wasn't a cynical, snarky jagg-off who made fun of my favorite video games in comic form. Before mowing down hordes of aliens/terrorists/zombies or whatever the hell those things in Bulletstorm are, had turned me into a manly space marine with scars on his face in place emotions in his soul.

No, before all that, I was a young boy with stars in his eyes and a song in his heart, just returning to his grandfather's home town after his death. I had spent many a joyous summer on his farm, but circumstances and time had taken us down different paths, and had it not been for a rather curious clause in the old man's will, I might never have set foot here again. The farm had fallen into a sorry state of disrepair and only if I managed to return it to its former glory in less than three years would I be allowed to stake my claim to it. Now, at the time I was a typical modern city boy, with soft hands and an expensive haircut, but after mulling it over for a while, I decided to pick up the gauntlet, and accept grandpa's challenge. Before I knew it, I was standing there with a hoe in my hand, and my dog Brutus by my side.

To all you city folk out there, this may come as a shock, but farming is damned hard work. Every day, I would get up at the crack of dawn, work all day, and then collapse into my bed in the evening, every speck of energy drained from my tender frame. It was several days before I even made it into Mineral Town itself, but at long last, a welcome shower of rain meant that I found the tiniest opening in my harrowing schedule so I could finally take the trip and introduce myself to my new neighbors. I instantly fell in love with all of them.

There was Ellen, the kindly old, retired mid-wife, who'd always have a story to share; Mayor Thomas, who reminded me that Super Mario could have had a real career if he'd only applied himself a bit, and Doug, the gentle, old-fashioned innkeeper, who just wanted to see his daughter married off to a good man, to name a few of the wonderful people who constituted this kind, close-knit community I was trying to best to become a part of. There were a few less idyllic fates among these people as well. Take Duke, the closet alcoholic and co-owner of the winery who drank to forget that his daughter no longer spoke to him. He kept his grief well hidden behind his warm, friendly eyes, but you knew it was there. And the bottle was there to help him cope. He too was part of the great tapestry of personalities that made this town special.

Of course, being a young, virile man with charisma to spare, like all who know me would confirm to you, I couldn't help but notice the plentitude of young, single women of wooable age who lived in and around Mineral Town. But I also realized that though these were simple country folk, they wouldn't be all that impressed by this young upstart blowing into town to take over the decrepit old farm in its outskirts. I had to apply myself to gain the attention of any of these beautiful girls. So I walked back to my farm, with a bag of seeds on my shoulder, and a fresh determination in my step.

I first noticed her during the Tomato Festival that summer, standing quietly, listening to her friends' conversation but not really participating in it. She wasn't the most immediately striking woman I'd seen, with her purple vest, worn cut-off jeans and big sturdy work-boots, she was not the kind who'd immediately draw a man's gaze to her passing on the street, but should you give her a second look, you'd have seen a pair of eyes of so unfathomable depth, ships could sink in them and never be heard from again. So sharp and breath-taking were they, a battalion of poets could spend a century describing merely their colour.

They were green.

I knew right there and then that I would have to get to know this girl. From then on, whenever I wasn't working on my ever expanding farm, or slaving in the nearby mine, I took the trip to her family's store in town, often buying useless garbage I didn't need, just to catch a glimpse of her. She was dismissive to me at first, like she was to most people, but slowly but surely, I tore down the barriers she had built to protect herself from the world. Karen was her name. She had lived her entire life in Mineral Town, but she spoke with a confidence of a woman who had travelled the continent, and tasted a wide variety of the wonders the world has to offer. That was probably the reason many saw her as arrogant or assertive, but to me, she was nothing short of magnificent. Before long, I would spend all the free time I could spare in the store, discussing, conversing, arguing and laughing with her. She was opinionated, but always open to alternative views, even to her most entrenched preconceptions, as long as you offered her a compelling argument. She wouldn't smile just to make you feel better, only when you said something that really delighted or amused her. And at the same time she'd make you feel like the most important man in the world, because you were the one who tempted it out of her.

I would enjoy this friendship for a year and a half before I noticed the initial signs that something more was growing between us. During that time, I'd had been less than covert with my affections for her, but she needed time, and I gave it to her, knowing in my heart that she was worth waiting for. My farm was doing well, I was becoming a respectable member of the community, and on a rainy day towards the end of summer, I felt her lips against mine for the first time, ran my fingers through her soft, delicate hair, and professed my undying love for her.

I knew what I had to do.

For the entire fall season, I slaved away on my regular chores on the farm during the day, but spent the evenings and nights working in the forest, cutting the lumber I needed for this most important project. On the first day of winter, I led her blindfolded to my farm, and as soon as she had stopped giggling that intoxicating little laugh you'd only hear when she was apprehensive but excited, I revealed to her the new wing of my farmhouse, the perfect fit for a fledgling little family. With tears of joy in the corner of her beautiful green eyes, she threw herself into my arms, and declared that she would of course marry me.

As soon as the snow thawed, it was finally time to meet her at the altar, and exchange our vows of eternal love and companionship. The day was perfect. The entire town had turned up to share in our joy, and as Karen's father walked her up the aisle towards me, I knew that my life finally had purpose. To ensure that my bride had the life, the love and the opportunities she deserved. In front of the pastor, we swore to cherish and keep each other until both our days would end. Then I took her in my arms, and kissed her with all the passion stored up in me since the first time I saw her, and knew she had to be mine.

And then, darkness...

I must warn you, dear reader, that it is as this point my story takes an abrupt metaphysical left turn. My screen had gone completely black, and as it stayed that way, and nothing seemed to happen, my initial belief that the PlayStation was merely loading all the assets for my wonderful new life slowly vaned. After half an hour, I decided to restart the console, and load the game back, confident that I would bypass this freak, once-in-a-lifetime bug, and be launched into the family bliss the game had so tantalizingly promised. Instead, all I got was more darkness. Six failed attempts at getting the game to run past this point later, I was getting worried. Was this some kind of cruel cosmic joke? Had I been led to the top of the mountain, and granted a look at the land of milk and honey, in the knowledge that I would never set my foot on it myself?

After a week of failed attempts, I was at my wits end, and I resorted to the one option that was left to me in the time before you could just run to the internet, and declare your outrage. I sat down, and wrote a physical, handwritten letter to the publisher, demanding an explanation, and more importantly, a solution. For weeks I waited, less than patiently for their reply and at long last, it arrived in my mail box.

The answer was devastating.

The letter basically told me that it was a bug they were familiar with, and that there was nothing that could be done about it, but they handily provided me with an address where I could send my copy of the game for a full refund.

I was furious.

I don't want your god-damned blood money, I want my wife back!

Eventually though, I had to realize that the dream was over. There was nothing that could be done. Karen was gone forever. I felt like a young Bruce Wayne, standing at the graves of his parents in the pouring rain, wondering how it could all go wrong so fast, and fearing having to live the rest of my life without the one I loved. But there was no way around it. She was never coming back.

So, like anyone whose backbone was worth the calcium it was made of, I decided to face my dark, unyielding grief like a man. By shaving my head, and murdering Nazis or Orcs or whoever stood in my way. Beats actually having to confront your feelings, am I right, men?

So here I am, thousands of lives of my conscience later, a grizzled, bitter old man, who remembers that young boy with the stars in his eyes and song in his heart only fleetingly, on the coldest, loneliest nights in the trenches of whatever God-forsaken conflict I've gotten myself involved with. I sometimes wonder how that life would have turned out, had I been allowed to live it. I wonder if I should have handled my grief differently. Maybe Duke had the right idea after all. Maybe the answer did lay at the bottom of a bottle. Then again, how could all the Krogan liquor in the galaxy do what slaughtering waves upon waves of Locust never could? Erasing Karen's face, looking lovingly at me whenever I close my eyes.

(This has been previously released on my stupid web-comic blog, but let's face it, no-one reads that.)